


Out by Eight

by Avelera



Series: Erebor Industries, Inc. [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Party, Domestic, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Gentle Sex, M/M, Mistletoe, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Tickle Fights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2745518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelera/pseuds/Avelera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo invites Thorin to be his “boyfriend” at Lobelia’s annual Christmas party, in order to show up his relatives and convince everyone he is off the market. Thorin agrees, a bit more readily than Bilbo expected.</p><p>Christmas shenanigans continue in chapter 2, with a final smut gift chapter. However, if you just prefer the clean version as opposed to smut, the final chapter is easily skippable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Party

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this little ditty in response to a Tumblr prompt from dragonslaeyr, "FOR THE PROMPTS: YOU SHOULD DO SOMETHING CHRISTMAS RELATED LIKE ONE HAVING TO BRING HOME A SIGNIFICANT OTHER FOR THE HOLIDAYS TO PLEASE THEIR FAMILY AND THUS A FAKE RELATIONSHIP AU WOW (bagginshield tbh)"
> 
> For background: this story takes place in a Modern/Wall Street AU that I never got around to writing. It would have basically been the Quest for Erebor set in the corporate world, with Bilbo hired as a hacker to help Thorin Thrainsson and Co. reclaim Erebor Industries, an international mining company stolen from them in a hostile takeover by FireDrake Consulting. Shenanigans ensued, people almost died, and Bilbo left Thorin in the hospital, convinced the newly reinstated CEO would want nothing further to do with him. It didn't help that Bilbo was nursing a massive crush, which only strengthened his resolve to keep any further dealings with Thorin strictly professional.
> 
> At least, until Lobelia's invitation arrived.

Bilbo looked down with some distaste at the gold-embossed letter now sitting on his kitchen table. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, his “dear” cousin-in-law, had invited Bilbo to her annual Christmas Eve party. Unfortunately, this meant he would have to go, because to do otherwise was to start the rumor that he was arrogant and unapproachable since returning from his venture East, from which he’d come back with considerable wealth. The other denizens of Hobbiton were just  _waiting_  for him to show some arrogance because of his newfound fortune, proof that the money had gone to his head. 

On its own, he would not have minded so much. He would pop by the party just long enough to show that he was still the same old Bilbo Baggins (he was not) and just as approachable as ever (which was not at all). But there, beneath his name in obscenely ornate cursive writing that to Bilbo’s jaundiced eye seemed altogether too smug, Lobelia had written that damnable catch:  _and guest_.

So now he was expected to bring a partner, or suffer through the night listening to Lobelia’s not-even-slightly veiled references to how  _happy_ she was with Otho and how  _sad_ that Bilbo would be alone on Christmas. This would spread to the rest of the village, and with it a reminder that Bilbo was not only single but now also quite rich, and he would never have any peace again. 

 _It would have to be someone impressive_ , Bilbo thought, eying the invitation. If looks could catch fire, the little card with its thick creamy paper would have been ash.  _Someone intimidating enough that no one would even think…_  

And he had it. Before he’d even realized what he was planning, namely to bring along a fake date to scare off the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes of his hometown, Bilbo was already taking out his mobile. Driven mostly by righteous indignation at the card, it wasn’t until a gruff voice answered on the other end that he realized what he was doing.

“Bilbo?” Thorin said, sounding shocked and puzzled at once. The words froze in Bilbo’s throat.

Bilbo had been hired as a “hacker” to help Thorin Thrainsson and Co. reclaim their lost mining empire from a hostile takeover by FireDrake Consulting over a year ago now. The circumstances were complicated, but somewhere along the line they’d succeeded after a great deal of unpleasantness, threats of lawsuit, and Thorin’s own breakdown. Bilbo had not spoken to Thorin since he’d slipped into a coma from his injuries. Just before that, Thorin had apologized for his behavior and his words at the gate before falling asleep for what turned out to be months. Bilbo meant to call when he heard Thorin had recovered, but there just never seemed to be the right occasion and it didn’t help that he was carrying a torch for Erebor Industry’s newly reinstated CEO.

“Are you there? Or is this some sort of pocket dial?” Thorin said suspiciously,

This snapped Bilbo out of his stupor enough to blurt out, “I need a favor!”

Silence greeted him, one that was altogether too filled up with all that was unspoken between them for comfort, and Bilbo raced on, attempting to keep his voice firm and businesslike. “I need an  _avec_  for a Christmas party. Family politics, you understand. Now, I know you’re probably busy, but it needn’t be for long. Just to show up, and then you can get off to whatever important corporate events you have going on. I’d much appreciate it, and would help me out of a tight spot. Of course, if you cannot, I fully understand, and you know what? This possibly the most foolish thing I’ve ever done, whatever was I thinking you certainly don’t have the time and—”

“I’ll go.”

“What?” Bilbo blinked.

“Send along the details and I'll join you,” Thorin said calmly, as if the proposal was thoroughly reasonable and Bilbo had not in fact been avoiding him for almost a year now.

“Oh. Well, that’s… very generous of you. Are you sure it’s no trouble?” Bilbo stuttered.

“None at all, I look forward to it. I will see you there.” There was silence on the other end of the line, but it didn’t seem Thorin had hung up. The silence stretched.

“Yes, indeed, see you there,” Bilbo said, and pressed the end button, dropping the mobile as if it were on fire. For a moment he stared at the kitchen wall, the mobile and the invitation gleaming mockingly from the table.

“What have I  _done_?”

* * *

It was a couple weeks until Christmas Eve, and without any further word from Thorin, Bilbo wondered if perhaps he’d forgotten. He wasn’t sure if that would be a good thing, certainly it would spare Bilbo the embarrassment of inviting his former employer out for some mad scheme to impress his relatives. But a part of him could not help but be disappointed at the thought as he waited outside Lobelia’s home. It was obscenely bedecked in wreathes, with enough Christmas lights to black out the neighborhood, and already guests were arriving at the door. There was no way in hell he was going in there alone, he’d turn around first. But seven ‘o’clock was approaching, when the party officially began, and it would not do to be late, if Thorin did not come...

Bilbo felt a touch on his elbow.

“I hope I have not kept you waiting too long?” Bilbo turned, and his jaw dropped. 

Perhaps he should have been a bit clearer about the dress code. Bilbo was wearing a suit too, to be sure, and of course it was one of his better ones. But he only wore it to be formal, while Thorin looked…dashing. The other man’s suit was simple enough with a crisp white shirt beneath, but combined with the long wool coat and leather gloves, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail, he looked as if he’d stepped out of the winter edition of a men’s fashion magazine. 

Thorin followed Bilbo’s gaze and looked down. “Am I overdressed?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“No, no! You’re perfect. I mean, it’s perfect. The suit. Very fine, I mean… hmm…” Bilbo said. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to have such a striking man by his side for the evening, and he thought a bit hysterically that it would certainly keep anyone from wondering if he could be tempted away. But that crush was flaring painfully and this was really  _not the time_. “Just remember, we’re supposed to be dating. No need for public displays of affection, of course. Just follow me around to a few social calls and then you’re free to be on your way. There’s more need to see and be seen than actually be caught snogging in the closet.” Bilbo switched to a business-like tone, which did wonders for regaining his composure.

Something flickered across Thorin’s expression. “I see. So this is only for appearances?” 

“Of course! I mean, that is, I would never…” Bilbo stopped himself. “I just don’t want to keep you from your busy schedule. Look at the time, it’s seven now. I should have you out by seven thirty, eight at latest if Primula is here, she’ll want to know all about you. Shall we?” He offered his arm to Thorin, who stared for a moment, and just before Bilbo could think better and pull it away, babbling apologies at his own presumption, Thorin took it.

He rang the bell and his finger had barely depressed the button when Lobelia opened it. It was a bit like being greeted by an enthusiastic Christmas tree. She wore a wide-skirted gown that sparkled in the light, green with gold accents and red Christmas bauble earrings that to Bilbo’s expert eye and sour mood were gaudy in the extreme. Beside her finery, Thorin looked modest to the point of drab.

“Bilbo!” Lobelia exclaimed, her eyes gleaming. “So happy you could make it. I know it was short notice to expect you to bring a plus one, but I have so many friends I’d like you to meet. They've heard  _so_  much about you and… who is this?” 

Bilbo cleared his throat, unable to prevent a predatory grin of his own. This game between him and Lobelia was an old one, and his newfound fortune had only raised the stakes. “My dear Lobelia, allow me to introduce the CEO of Erebor Industries, Thorin Thrainsson.” He hesitated, finding no better word for it, “My _boyfriend_.” 

Lobelia gaped, and the sight alone might have been the crown of Bilbo’s evening if he had not stolen another glance at Thorin. The other man was illuminated by the golden light from inside the house and...  _o_ _h_. Oh, Bilbo was in so much trouble.

“At your service,” Thorin said, removing a black leather glove to take Lobelia’s hand. She made no resistance except a tiny squeaking sound at the back of her throat as Thorin brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Charmed,” Lobelia said in a high, strangled tone. “Well, punch is that way, my own recipe, you’re delicious. It’s delicious. Welcome. I must see to the other guests!” She swept, almost scampered away, looking more than a bit wild-eyed.

When Bilbo looked back at Thorin, the man was smirking. “Oh you know  _exactly_ what you just did!” Bilbo muttered, torn between admiration and a spike of jealousy that he daren’t give words to.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Thorin replied loftily. “I thought the plan was to impress your relatives? I was only trying to be polite.”

Bilbo snorted. “Come on, the sooner we face the others the sooner you can get out of here,” he said, as he pulled Thorin along with him. Was it his imagination, or was Thorin reluctant to match Bilbo’s speed?

* * *

Punch was called for if he would be spending an entire evening with his relatives, but Bilbo was a little taken aback when Thorin asked for a glass as well. “Alright, but just the one,” Bilbo said. “I may have to be here all night, but I don’t want to send you drunk to your next appointment.”

Thorin said nothing to this, but took a long swallow of his punch, draining half the glass and refilling it again before they walked out into the melee of Lobelia’s party. They were immediately accosted by his cousin Primula, normally one of Bilbo’s favorite relatives, but he was painfully conscious of the time and how little of it he had to introduce Thorin to as many relatives and potential suitors as possible. 

“You simply  _must_  tell me how you two met. Bilbo has told so much about you, but it seems he left that detail out!” Primula exclaimed.

Thorin gave Bilbo a sidelong glance and at his helpless shrug turned back to Primula, saying in his low, rumbling voice, “Master Baggins was recommended to me as a contractor by Dr. Gandalf Grey, and over the ensuing months, we worked closely together to find evidence of an illegal takeover of my family’s company. To my own shame, I did not recognize Bilbo’s quality at first, as I was reluctant to seek outside help in building our case. However, he has proven himself many times over as both a friend and a partner. I could ask for no one better.”

At some point during this little speech, Bilbo’s heart had clenched, and it was with a great deal of effort that he kept his lips tight and his expression calm until the wave passed. Thorin really was playing the part quite well, even throwing Bilbo a fond smile at the end. Really, he had underestimated the man’s acting ability, or how much it would hurt to see it on display.  No matter. If he could only package that little speech up and deliver it to a few more relatives, they should be home free.

The problem was to first extricate them both before Primula revealed too much about what he’d told her during a few indiscreet nights over several bottles of wine. Back when Thorin was still in the hospital, and Bilbo had not yet managed to overcome the worst of his crush…

“Oh that’s lovely,” Primula gushed, then shot Bilbo a calculating look. One he met with his own grimace of horror before she plowed on mercilessly. “You must know now that Bilbo has been utterly besotted with you from the first, love at first sight from the sound of it, though I’m sure he’d never admit it! I’m just so pleased that you two finally worked it out. Oh, Drogo! Over here!” Primula said, turning to wave at someone spotted by the door, and scampered off with only a single glance over her shoulder, leaving Bilbo staring fixedly at the ceiling, wondering if it was possible to vanish at will.

“Besotted?” Thorin said after a moment. Bilbo did not dare look at him.

“She exaggerates. And in any case, I’m well over it, no need to fear,” Bilbo said hurriedly. “Is your glass empty? My glass is empty, let me fill it for you.” With that he snatched the cup from Thorin’s hand. Fortunately, the punch line was quite long, and by the time he got back to where Thorin he was no longer blushing like a teenager.

But something had changed about Thorin. He accepted the drink gratefully, finishing it very quickly, and whenever Bilbo thought to steal a glance at Thorin to make sure he was not too bored with all the chit-chat, he found Thorin looking back at him. Eight o'clock came and went, but by then Bilbo found that he didn’t care all that much, not if Thorin didn’t. He tried to make some suggestion that he appreciated the help, but enough people had seen them together now that Thorin really didn’t need to stay if he didn’t want to, but Thorin waved him away. He was still in deep conversation with Otho, of all people, on the subject of running small enterprises, in this case Otho’s family business at the mill. Bilbo could hardly complain that Thorin was getting along with his extended family, but the sheer amount of effort Thorin seemed to be putting into this endeavor baffled him. After all, he need not be so genial with all of them, going out of his way to win friends, especially since he would likely never see any of them again.

And, Bilbo did not like to admit it, that spike of jealousy was returning. Lobelia was no longer an isolated incident. Thorin shook the men’s hands firmly and kissed the hands of the ladies, sending them into a flutter from the youngest girl to the oldest grandmother. Bilbo could practically see the room turning towards Thorin as if he were the new center of gravity.

 “He’s so  _handsome_ ,” Bilbo overheard one of his distant cousins whispering to another girl beside her.

“And taken, more’s the pity, the best ones always are,” her companion sighed.

He looked back at Thorin, who had somehow gotten ahead of him in the crush, just in time to see Thorin shooting a look back at him, looking wide-eyed and flustered by the swarm of young women and men that now surrounded him, many of whom Bilbo recognized as the ones who had flung themselves at  _him_  the year before. 

 _Leave him to it_ , Bilbo thought, feeling uncharitable at the moment. If Thorin was having such a wonderful time, then he could surely pull himself free of this if he wanted to. After all, Bilbo had no claim on him and the last thing he wanted was to ruin Thorin’s good time. But no sooner had he thought this, than Thorin was inclining his head to the girls, excusing himself, and wading back in Bilbo’s direction.

“Is everything alright?” Thorin said, leaning in and placing his mouth right next to Bilbo’s ear, in a voice that shot through every nerve of Bilbo’s body. Thankfully, Bilbo was already blushing from the punch, or at least could explain it away as such.

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Bilbo said, pulling away before the urge to lean in closer got too strong. “I’m sure the others are missing you already, and I don’t want to take away from your fun.”

Thorin glanced back at his shoulder at the crowd of men and women craning to see what the two of them were talking about. He looked back. “They will manage. In any case, I am not here for them.”

Bilbo’s mouth went dry, and he stifled the little leap of hope before it could get any worse, taking a quick sip of his punch to wet his lips again. There was very little left, how had that happened? “Nonsense, I’m sure they’re far more pleasant company than I am at present. Look at you, you’re the life of the party. You could go home with anyone in this room right now, even the married ones. Their husband would probably agree!”

Well, that came off as rather more bitter than he’d intended. And his cup was empty, blast it, so he didn’t even have something to hide behind when Thorin leaned in closer. “Anyone?”

“Yes, anyone,” Bilbo said testily, “You’ve already given a kiss to every girl and granddame here, I’m certain the next step would not be a hard sell.”

“But I have no interest in “the next step”, as you say. At least, not with any of them,” Thorin said. Perhaps it was the effect of the punch, but there was a shine to Thorin’s eyes and a hint of color to his cheeks. “There’s someone else I had in mind.”

The words crept through the haze of inebriation, teasing at Bilbo’s brain. His stomach dropped. “Oh god, you’re seeing someone, and I dragged you here as my date? Is he… she? Alright with it? I must apologize immediately, I had no idea.” Why had that not occurred to him? Thorin was thoroughly attractive, a CEO and a public figure. Men and women would be lining up at his doorstep, and if he turned on the charm as he had this evening, the line would wrap around the block. How could Bilbo have expected him to be single all this time? He hadn’t even asked. Thorin must have agreed because it was safe for him to come, knowing nothing would happen. This was just a favor to a friend. How could Bilbo have been so—

“I meant you.”

The chaotic tumble of Bilbo's thoughts halted. “I beg your pardon?”

“Bilbo,” Thorin said patiently. “When I awoke, I found out you had been gone for weeks. Between the company and the physical therapy, I had no time, and even if I had I would not presume to contact you after what I did.”

“What  _you_  did? Thorin, I stole your accounts and gave them to Bard! You had every right to throw me in  _jail_ , let alone speak to me again!” Bilbo said.

“And I attacked you during my breakdown. You could have put me on trial for assault and ruined all chances of my family regaining their assets. But you didn’t, and you came to the hospital to tell me you forgave me. That was already more than I had any right to ask.”

“Is that why you’re here? To make up for it? Thorin, I don’t blame you, really, there’s no obligation…”

“I was under the impression this was a date when you invited me,” Thorin said, and Bilbo could only gape.

“No. No, no, no… Thorin, this is the punch talking. I absolutely refuse to believe you… that you came to this party because you thought it was a real invitation,” Bilbo said stepping back and holding his hands out in front of him.

“It _is_ the punch talking, because I’ve been at this,” Thorin looked down at his glass, “rather disgustingly sweet and fruity mixture all night trying to work up the courage to ask you. Bilbo, was what your cousin said true?”

“I—yes, but it was many months ago, Thorin. I’ve… gotten better, I’ve moved on, I’ve…” Bilbo looked up and found Thorin watching him. It really was terribly unfair for anyone to be that handsome, especially when Bilbo was trying to do the right thing. “I didn’t want to put any pressure on you,” he finished lamely.

“You’re not,” Thorin said. The room had suddenly gone very quiet. Bilbo looked around, anywhere really, rather than at Thorin. This was all too much, and he’d had too many glasses of punch to think rationally about this. As it turned out, most of the room was staring at them, and there were more than a few sly grins amongst them.

“What are you looking at?” Bilbo demanded, far too flustered for propriety at present.

 “Bilbo, look up,” Thorin murmured.

 “Oh no, don’t say it, please tell me there isn’t…” Bilbo groaned. He was not in the mood at present for some horrible cliché… but of course, there was mistletoe above them.

 “I wouldn’t want to put any pressure on you,” Thorin said, echoing Bilbo’s earlier words with a hint of a smirk. “But you have been standing under it for the last fifteen minutes, which was why I fought my way back here.” 

“I—” 

"It _would_ help convince your relatives that you are no longer 'on the market', as you said.”

Some of the girls were giggling, and others looked disappointed, along with a few of the men. That alone might have been enough incentive to refuse, were Bilbo feeling small and petty. But Thorin was looking at him with a small, hopeful smile and it was simply unacceptable for anyone to receive such an offer after several glasses of punch and then be expected to refuse it. “Oh,  _alright_ ,” Bilbo huffed.

He was not expecting Thorin’s hand to cup his face, leaning in for a kiss Bilbo had thought about far too many times. It was gentle, and sweeter than he would have expected from Thorin, tinged with the flavor of the punch. Then again, Bilbo's fantasies had not included scattered applause from his extended family. When they broke apart again, a bit later than he would have found strictly comfortable with so many people watching, he rounded on the rest of the party. “Yes, thank you for the interest! He is indeed mine, and I expect you all to keep your sticky paws off him in the future! We’re going now, good _bye_.”

With that, Bilbo grabbed Thorin by the arm, pulling him towards the door, and this time Thorin did not drag his feet. It was Christmas Eve after all, and there were better things to be doing than trying to impress one’s relatives. 


	2. Christmas Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a major formatting error the first time I posted the chapter, so I decided to just take the whole thing down and repost. 
> 
> Diemarysues, for one of my usual Bagginshield drabble prompt requests, prompted: Wrestling match on the couch that ends with one of them hitting their heads on the floor and the other has to kiss the booboo better.
> 
> This got me thinking about Modern AU, and I decided it fit perfectly as a sequel chapter to "Out by Eight". This is still set in the "Corporate AU" world that never was, though I go into more detail in this chapter about those events. The chapter was written to "Stay Home" by sElf, and "Bubbly" by Colbie Caillat. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

Bilbo yawned and stretched, coming awake slowly, and it was only when his sprawled arm encountered a warm weight beside him that the events of the previous evening came flooding back. Thorin lay next to him, eyes fluttering open as Bilbo’s movements jostled him awake, but from the look of easy peace in his eyes he did not seem to mind overmuch. To whit, when he plucked up the offending hand that had just batted him across the face, turning Bilbo’s palm toward him and pressing an open-mouth kiss to the pulse point at the wrist.

If Bilbo were honest with himself, there was no version of the previous evening that he had dared imagine ending like this. Inviting Thorin to the Christmas party had been, if nothing else, intended to remind himself just how out of his reach Thorin really was. It seemed Thorin had other ideas at the time and, even more useful, a driver to drop them off at Bilbo’s door.

The brush of lips against the sensitive skin sent a delightful shiver through Bilbo, and in the early morning drowsiness there was not even the slightest hint of the insistent second voice in his head telling him to fuss, or worry, or find some reason to fix a situation that emphatically did not need fixing. Instead he scooted closer, and allowing Thorin to enfold him in his arms.

“Merry Christmas?” Bilbo chuckled as they exchanged another lazy kiss. Thorin’s long, silver-streaked hair was fanned out on the pillow, and Bilbo viewed with some fond exasperation Thorin's ability to look ready for a men’s fashion shoot when just waking up after a night of drinking. Bilbo could only imagine the state of his own curls.

“I’m afraid I didn’t get you anything,” Thorin murmured against his lips before pulling back slightly. “I wasn’t sure it would be appropriate, given the circumstances.”

“Nonsense. You’re here, aren’t you?” Bilbo said, punctuating his words with another kiss. “That’s a gift I never would have envisioned. I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see you again after… well, everything that happened.”

“Me? I thought I was quite clear with my regard. You were the one who never called, even after I awoke. What else was I to think?” Thorin said, then rested his forehead against Bilbo’s and looking into his eyes. There was a look of quiet awe there which normally would have made Bilbo squirm, but at present he was far too relaxed to summon the self-consciousness that required.

“‘Quite clear?’” he scoffed instead. “You told me to go home to my boring little house and my boring little life. You might as well have written a postcard telling me to move on and forget you.”

“I thought I was _dying,_ Bilbo,” Thorin growled. “Forgive me if my final thoughts were of your happiness.”

“Yes… well…” Bilbo said, fumbling with what to say. “To be honest, all of this, my life here, felt rather… silly and pointless after all that adventure. I thought we’d let time tell, and when _you_ didn’t call, I thought it was probably for the best that we leave our goodbyes where they were.”

“So in the months since I woke up we’ve both been playing a game of phone tag, waiting for the other to make the first move?” Thorin said, raising an eyebrow.

“Like a couple of besotted teenagers, at least on my part,” Bilbo agreed. “I should thank Lobelia for throwing that party, perhaps send her a fruit basket? I wonder if she's allergic to anything...”

“You know, as it is Christmas, I have nowhere else I need to be today,” Thorin observed.

“I imagine that’s terribly novel for you,” Bilbo said, then the realization dawned. “All our relatives are busy, the stores are closed, my goodness, we couldn’t go anywhere if we wanted to.”

A look of equal understanding blossomed on Thorin’s features, and he and Bilbo exchanged looks as giddy as two children on, well, Christmas morning. “Nowhere at all.”

“We _will_ need to eat at some point, though. Luckily I stocked up, but it was really only meant for one. I can make you some eggs if you…” Bilbo began, before another kiss, this one including wandering hands and the brush of teeth against his lower lip, put an end to that line of discussion.

* * *

Eventually they made it to the kitchen, with Bilbo now clad in the striped pajamas he had not worn to bed the previous night, and Thorin in his undershirt and a pair of borrowed sweatpants which were the only thing in Bilbo’s closet with the slightest chance of fitting him.

“You are absolutely certain you won’t be needed elsehwere?” Bilbo said, standing over the stove top finishing up the omelets he insisted on making. Thorin sat with his hands folded in front of him at the kitchen table, where Bilbo had driven him with an expression of utter scandal that Thorin should offer to help with the cooking when he was a guest in Bilbo’s home for only the second time.

“Erebor Industries is closed through Boxing Day, and everyone is on leave, including the CEO,” Thorin said happily, or as happily as Bilbo had ever seen him. There was the faintest upward tilt to the corners of his lips and his brow was not creased in its habitual frown of concentration. Come to think of it, Bilbo had very rarely had the chance to see Thorin relaxed at all on their journey. Between working on the legal case, poring over old accounts, the various court dates, and running for their lives more often than was at all sensible, there hadn’t been many occasions for a sunny disposition.

“Still, I wouldn’t keep you,” Bilbo teased, echoing his words from the night before. “If there’s anywhere else you would rather be, I promise there’s not obligation…”

“Are you trying to kick me out, and I’m simply being horribly dense?” Thorin said, arching an eyebrow.

“Not at all!” Bilbo said. “I suppose I can’t entirely believe that I have you to myself for the whole day.”

Thorin looked unaccountably pleased at the statement, a thought that on some level still baffled Bilbo, along with the fact that Thorin would seek his company at all. There he sat, managing to look dashing and thoroughly delicious even when bumming around in sweatpants on a lazy morning. Even his dark hair was tied back in a simple hair elastic, instead of the artful silver clasp of the night before.

It wasn’t as if Bilbo had never seen Thorin outside of formalwear. He could say with some authority that prison orange was not Thorin’s color, and it had been several days after he had broken the rest of the Company out of their cells before they had managed to scrounge more than some cheap t-shirts and jeans. However, that was entirely a different matter than seeing the other man barefoot in his kitchen. It gave Bilbo a peculiar sense of vertigo, as if he were playing a game of “what doesn’t belong in this picture” in his own home.

On a whim, Bilbo took down his mother’s fine china and teacups as much for the holiday as for a display of trust. Certainly the Company had been indelicate with the fine dishes, but he doubted that Thorin would be anything less than careful and respectful with them by contrast. Bilbo fussed about, putting the finishing touches on their breakfast and pouring the tea before setting it all out and taking his seat across from Thorin. Thorin accepted it all with a grateful smile which did truly unfair things to Bilbo’s heart for all that it was a simple gesture of thanks. Bilbo did his best to ignore it and tucked into his meal. He was nearly half-way done before he realized Thorin was still watching him with a curious half-smile.

“Is something wrong with the food?” Bilbo said, though he knew quite well there wasn’t. He had prepared it, after all. Thorin gave a start nevertheless, as if caught in some act.

“Nothing. I am simply unaccustomed to this much free time, and wondering what we will do to pass the day,” he said, recovering.

Bilbo sipped his tea thoughtfully. “Well, my family obligations at least are discharged after Lobelia’s dreadful party. Truth be told, I haven’t really celebrated Christmas since my parents passed. I mostly use the day to catch up on housework and watch some truly dreadful telly.”

Thorin perked up at that. “A day of television on the sofa? You spoil me, Bilbo.”

“Only the finest for you, my dear,” Bilbo said loftily.

But the look of interest had been sincere enough. For all Bilbo knew, having a few hours to watch mindless television really was a luxury for Thorin. So once the plates were cleaned and put away, they found themselves seated on Bilbo’s squishy, floral-printed sofa, in front of his admittedly out-of-date television. He rarely turned it on except for the sound, preferring his books and writing for entertainment, but Thorin seemed to have no complaints against the modest display as he took his seat at the far side of the sofa. It was not until Bilbo was seated primly beside him that the weight of Thorin’s arm settled over his shoulder, drawing him close. Thorin was taller, broader, and quite comfortable, and Bilbo melted against him with a sigh. It was several minutes before he even remembered to grab the remote.

Bilbo flipped through the channels as Thorin’s fingers traced idle patterns over his arm, and lovely as it was Bilbo could only pay half a mind as the TV flickered and he frowned thoughtfully.

“How does a Bond marathon sound?” Bilbo said, pausing at one promising channel.

“Appropriate,” Thorin replied, pausing in his ministrations along Bilbo's arm.

Bilbo snorted. “Appropriate? Why, because over the course of reclaiming that mining company of yours we managed to get chased, shot at, imprisoned, black-bagged, beaten, and in my case, nearly eaten by a crazed cannibal living in a basement? Indeed, I suppose that does sound rather Bond-like.”

“I was going to say because it’s Christmas, and we both came early this morning,” Thorin deadpanned.

Bilbo went very still. Then, slowly, with eyes widened in disbelief he turned to stare at Thorin. The other man was actually _smirking_ , both eyebrows raised as if he had just told the greatest joke in the world.

“I cannot believe…” Bilbo began. Paused. Reassessed. Tried again, “I cannot _believe_ you of all people just told that awful old joke.”

“Would you prefer it with the Connery accent?” Thorin grinned, eyebrows rising higher.

“Don’t you dare… Thorin!”

“ _But I thought Christmas only comes_ —” Thorin said in perhaps the worst imitation of the immortal Sean Connery James Bond that Bilbo had ever heard, which left him with only one option.

He attacked, driving his fingertips up into Thorin’s armpits and tickling for all he was worth. Anything to make that horrible accent _go away_.

Thorin gave an almighty squawk and fell back, eyes wild, trying to at once bat Bilbo away and not be too forceful, but Bilbo was merciless. Wherever Thorin went to block, Bilbo would squirm his fingers around elsewhere. To his delight he found Thorin was ticklish _everywhere_.

“Bilbo, you don’t know what you’re doing,” Thorin warned, which Bilbo gleefully ignored. A breathless laugh broke Thorin’s lips, which turned to breathless pleading. “Bilbo, don’t, I can’t be held accountable— _no not there_.”

“I never realized you were so sensitive,” Bilbo crowed as Thorin struggled beneath him.

“I’m not, I’m not!” Thorin gasped.

“Is that so? Alright then,” Bilbo smirked while Thorin wailed. Bilbo found that armpits were the worst, but also the most defensible, but stomach and sides were fair game, neck, and even the back of the knees, where even Bilbo wasn’t ticklish. When he moved down the couch to seize Thorin by the ankle and start tickling his feet, Thorin _howled,_ and kicked out.

He probably should have taken into account that Thorin was a _great_ deal stronger than him, because suddenly Bilbo was flying through the air, which was not good. He tumbled across his carpet, coming to rest as his head hit the wall with a _thunk._ Stars exploded across Bilbo’s vision, and the impact drove the breath from his lungs.

Still, he was more dazed from surprise than from the impact, but before he could struggle upright on his own, Thorin was there, cupping the back of Bilbo’s head and drawing him away from the wall. His vision spun, but even so he could see Thorin’s face was pale and anxious.

“Bilbo? Bilbo, are you alright?” Thorin said, his voice hoarse. “ _Please say something_.”

Bilbo blinked, clearing the remaining haze from his head and frowned. “Of course I’m alright. I’ve had worse slipping on my front stoop.” He sat up, disentangling himself from Thorin’s hold and plaintively rubbing the back of his head. There would be a bump there by morning.

Thorin was still hovering beside him, his hands up in front, and when Bilbo glanced at them Thorin snatched them back and stood, stepping back. He finally settled on the arm of the couch, but his whole body language changed, became hunched and self-contained though he still eyed Bilbo as if he wanted nothing more than to rush back to his side.

Bilbo sighed, seeing the tell-tale signs of Thorin Thrainsson’s patented brand of guilt. “Oh for goodness’ sake, Thorin, whatever is the matter? I can assure you, I hardly need a medic right now. It serves me right in any case for teasing you when you asked me to stop.”

Thorin met his eye and looked away, gaze falling to his hands, which were clenched around one another. “No, the fault is mine,” he said, without further elaboration.

It felt like the bump was already forming, so with a frown and a last glance at Thorin, Bilbo went to the kitchen to fill up the ice pack. He came back holding it against his head, and found Thorin still hunched in on himself, this time with his mobile lit up in his hand. Only when Bilbo came over to stand directly in front of him did he set it aside.

“It seems the driver from last night has already left for the country. I’m afraid I’ll need to make a few more calls if I’m to get a ride, unless you can direct me to a nearby hotel,” Thorin said.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Bilbo said, taking away the ice pack long enough to put his hand to his hips. Thorin flinched at the sight of it.

“I wouldn’t want to impose further on your hospitality,” Thorin said, gaze flickering briefly to look up at Bilbo, the shame in his eyes so palpable that it made _Bilbo_ embarrassed.

“Of all the ridiculous…” Bilbo said, and knelt down so that he was looking up at Thorin and the man could no longer avoid his gaze by staring at his hands. “Are you seriously threatening to run off into the cold because I took a bump to the head?”

“I would hardly call it a ‘threat’,” Thorin murmured. “And you did not just take a bump. You were hurt, something I swore to never let happen again.”

Bilbo huffed a sigh, even as his heart twisted at the sheer misery on Thorin’s face, misplaced as it was. “Always so dramatic. Come now, can we not leave the recrimination to a forgotten anniversary or somesuch? I won’t blame you, and in exchange you won’t test how ticklish _I_ may be when I’m least expecting, deal?” Thorin’s shoulders slumped and he looked as though he might protest, but instead he sighed and shook his head ruefully.

“If you insist,” he said, and the ghost of a smile flickered over his features.

“Wonderful. Now, kiss it better,” Bilbo said, offering a half-smile to show he was joking, but with all his considerable dignity, Thorin inclined his head, leaning down to press a kiss the top of Bilbo’s. He lingered there a long time, the warmth of his breath ruffling Bilbo’s curls, before pulling away.

“Now, what is this nonsense about you swearing I would never get hurt again?” Bilbo said, moving over to take a seat once more on the couch. Thorin remained on the arm rest, still facing away until Bilbo gave a light tug at the back of his undershirt, dragging him down to sit beside him. Thorin relented, and this time Bilbo put one arm around the larger man while the other kept the ice pack on the back of his own head, drawing Thorin close. As his one spot of revenge, he placed his chin on the top of Thorin’s head. Thorin had opportunity enough to do that to him, after all, with Bilbo’s inferior height. It seemed only fitting. But any petty feeling of vengeance melted as Thorin relaxed against him tilting his head to rest it on Bilbo’s shoulder, and Bilbo’s heart melted with it.

“I swore that I would protect you, now as much as while you were under my employment,” Thorin said. It was certainly a dignified statement, not to mention noble and hopelessly old-fashioned, which would be just like Thorin. Except one thing was sticking in Bilbo’s mind, something he had not really given voice to along the way, out of respect for Thorin, but this was a record that needed setting straight.

“Excuse me, but protect me from what, exactly?” Bilbo said with some amusement. “As I recall, I did most of the protecting.”

Thorin frowned, tilting his head back to look up at Bilbo. “Surely I was not so useless?”

“Useless? Oh no, never,” Bilbo said. He began to tick off on the fingers of his free hand, holding it before Thorin’s eyes. “But if I recall the first time I saved you all was with those thugs who black-bagged us after the car was stolen. Dr. Grey even admitted that I kept them busy until they saw his fake police lights.”

“Granted,” Thorin said with an easy nod. “But they did catch you, if not for the rest of us you might be in a shallow grave somewhere.”

“Or I may have talked my way out,” Bilbo retorted. “If not for a bunch of gallumphing Vikings come screaming in through the front door. Did you even _consider_ that they might have guns?”

Thorin grumbled at this, which Bilbo took as further invitation. “Let’s see, the second time was after the “safe house”, remember that? Except that your contacts failed to mention that the mob had bought out the building and we had just walked into the back door of their headquarters. There was a cannibal in the basement, Thorin, an actual cannibal. I still can’t look at riddle games the same way. I think it says quite a bit about my regard for you that I didn’t turn around that day and grab the first plane home.”

“Thank you,” Thorin said, when Bilbo had expected further grumbling. But Thorin’s eyes were clear, and his expression warm as he looked up from Bilbo’s arms. “It meant more than you could possibly have known at the time.” 

Bilbo swallowed, all sarcasm dying on his tongue in the face of such sincerity. “Well, yes, glad I did. I’m not sure how you all would have made it from that point otherwise. Remember not an hour later you charged that Albino, _again_ without considering that he might have a gun, Thorin do you ever think these things through? I was shaking so hard I’m surprised I didn’t drop my knife, it was only luck that Gandalf’s friends arrived in time. Fourth was the security guards with the nets at the Greenwood Firm, I can’t believe Dwalin tried to punch his way out, I truly can’t, and the fifth those prison cells… and I only managed to get you out because I had enough tucked away to make bail for all thirteen of you. Oh, and then Bard’s firm. He had you absolutely dead to rights, you know, he or Thranduil could have had the lot of you thrown in jail _again_ for trespassing alone, even with my vouching for your character.”

This did elicit a grumble, but more the instinctive one that arose whenever anyone mentioned Greenwood & Sons, Erebor Industries’ erstwhile law firm. Greenwood had represented Erebor Industries for decades, at least until FireDrake had begun their hostile takeover and the law firm and unexpectedly quit the case, citing a conflict of interest and their own belief that Erebor Industries lacked the resources to pay their fee, much less win. Bard’s people were probably no less a sore topic, the little accounting firm that FireDrake Consulting had ruined when they got wind that Bard intended to help prove Thorin’s company had been taken by fraud. Bilbo had delivered to Bard the Arkenstone Ledger, a centuries’ old account book first stolen by Smaug during the hostile takeover. The Ledger was all Thorin needed to prove the fraud, but he had refused to part with it, lost as he was in the throes of a nervous breakdown that was, in Bilbo’s opinion, very long in coming. It had seemed there was no other way to win the case but hand the Ledger over to Bard’s firm, and along with it a promise of 14% of Erebor Industries’ shares should it be reclaimed. That percentage would be a staggering sum from any company, much less for an international mining conglomerate like Erebor, and Thorin had been beyond furious with Bilbo at the time. At least, until the accident.

“My point is,” Bilbo said, returning from the depths of memory with a kiss on the top of Thorin’s head. “My point is, I’m glad to have shared in your perils, and I would take it all again, the good and the bad, as I told you before and I mean it now as much as I did then. So I really must protest this idea that I’m made of glass, or that you must run off in shame over a little tussle.”

“Is it so wrong to be ashamed of hurting you?” Thorin said archly, though the deep gloom that hovered over him seemed to be lifting.

“I assure you, I’m quite a bit tougher than I look, and a lot more devious. For example you, my dear, have foolishly fallen once more into my trap,” Bilbo said, and dropped the ice packet beside the couch. He then snaked his arms over Thorin’s chest, burying the opposite hands under each armpit and tickling Thorin once again for all he was worth.

Thorin jolted with a yelp, kicking out, but this time Bilbo held him fast while Thorin laughed and writhed, trying to in vain to break free. Only once the last of Thorin’s gloom was dispelled in a storm of gasping and flailing limbs did Bilbo relent. At least, he only gave one last threatening twitch to make Thorin jump, and to be a bit of a bastard.

“So, are we even?” Bilbo said to a now breathless Thorin.

“Perhaps, though I’m beginning to regret my promise to not test your ticklishness in return,” Thorin said, and Bilbo grinned at the cheer that had returned to his voice and bearing. “I still feel as if I owe you something. A Christmas gift, perhaps?”

“Stay another night, and that will be gift enough,” Bilbo said, then added thoughtfully. “Then again, a promise to never do that dreadful Sean Connery impression again is also quite tempting.”

“I’m afraid on that point I must haggle. If you take away my Connery impression, I won’t have any jokes left,” Thorin deadpanned.

“Fine,” Bilbo huffed. “Still, I can’t say I’m in much of a mood for Bond anymore.”

“And here I was looking forward to wasting a day on the couch,” Thorin said mournfully.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bilbo said, letting his crossed hands drift lower and teasing the area between the bottom of Thorin’s undershirt and the waistband of the sweatpants. “I can think of other ways to waste our time. We’ve had all the danger of the Bond movies, not to mention a comical array of villains who all seemed to have a grudge against you. I feel that it is only right that we make up for the percentage of other…entertaining aspects of those films that we missed out on during our adventure.”

“Certainly a percentage I wouldn’t mind fixing,” Thorin said with a low growl at the back of his throat as he turned in Bilbo’s arms, pressing Bilbo back down onto the sofa, his short beard scratching at Bilbo’s neck as Thorin kissed along his throat. From that point on there was very little speaking, except for some nonsensical repetitions of such words as “please” and “yes”, as Christmas yielded enough gifts to keep either of them from complaining the rest of the year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has [fanart](http://avelera.tumblr.com/post/118679556425/drakyrna-art-i-promised-avelera-fanart-if-she) by the lovely Drakyrna!


	3. Bonus Smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One final chapter as a treat. I realized I had skipped past several potential sex scenes, and thought it only fair to give you at least one. Please enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to minorthirds, amaronith, and jaimistoryteller for the beta help!

Bilbo's fingers traced the line between Thorin's undershirt and his sweatpants and Thorin shifted against him, an infinitesimal rise of his hips. Bilbo huffed a quiet, exasperated laugh. ”Really? After this morning?”

“It was much longer before that," Thorin said, looking back at Bilbo. His back was pressed against Bilbo’s chest, his head lounging against his shoulder and his eyelids fluttered as Bilbo's hand drifted lower, pulling at the waistband of the sweatpants and teasing beneath. At his words though, Bilbo stopped, earning him a wordless mumble of complaint.

"I should think someone as handsome as you would have had plenty of opportunities since," Bilbo said.

"With my copious free time?" Thorin said dryly, cracking an eye open. "And my lack of interest? There was only one phone call I was waiting for."

Bilbo swallowed. The elastic waistband pressed down around his fingertips, trapping them. "You must realize how absurd that sounds when you look like this and I'm... well."

He didn't elaborate. He didn't feel he needed to. Thorin was just under two meters of muscle and aristocratic features. Perhaps not as perfectly cut as an underwear model, there was some softness across his lightly furred abdomen. The man did have a desk job these days, after all. But what was there was solid, bulky, and made Bilbo's mouth water just thinking about it. The fact that his face was gorgeous as well was unfair on every level.

Bilbo by contrast knew what he was. Middle aged, and showing all his years, with lined if expressive features, curly hair he rarely cared enough to tame, and pudge around the middle that put him firmly in the "ordinary" category of the market. Even his lifestyle was largely inherited, his rare book dealership bringing in only a modest amount of income, more of a hobby than a career. When he had returned home after the adventure, with Thorin still in the hospital, he truly had done so from the belief that there was nothing further he could offer, not with the company reclaimed and Thorin surrounded by his friends and family.

"Delectable?" Thorin said. He covered Bilbo's hand with his own larger one, squeezing it lightly. "Kind? Clever? What precisely am I supposed to take issue with, besides the fact you're also a dreadful tease?"

Bilbo grumbled under his breath, all he could do to counter the spreading blush. "A tease indeed," he muttered, slipping his hand out from under Thorin's and down further into his boxers. Thorin released a shivery breath, stretching up against Bilbo like a great cat, and he could not prevent his own grin. He had an idea, a truly wicked one, since learning just how sensitive Thorin was to tickling. He never would have suspected as much, given that it was hard to imagine a man as large and solid as Thorin as being sensitive to anything, but it seemed even the light touches were enough to make him writhe, and Bilbo could not help but wonder what lighter touches of a different sort may bring out.

Bilbo traced his fingers up and back down the line of Thorin's pelvis, the skin pebbling beneath his touch. Again Thorin’s hips canted up, guiding Bilbo downward, but he had other plans. He scooted closer, bracing himself with his left arm wrapped around Thorin's chest, pressing his face to Thorin's throat, breath ghosting against his ear and jawline. His right hand in the meantime traveled further down, tracing along Thorin's inner thigh, balls, and finally gently along the length of his stirring cock. Thorin sighed, shifting beneath his touch.

That was all he did for a long while, fingertips gliding from Thorin's lower belly to his thigh, tracing circles, occasionally palming his length for light, barely-there strokes. Thorin's lips parted and he pressed his head back against Bilbo's shoulder, back arching, chest rising and falling deeper as he came to full hardness, far more quickly than Bilbo would have once thought the light touches warranted. But it seemed gentle use was as good a method as any for driving Thorin slowly wild. It was not long at all before Thorin's cock began to weep pre-come beneath Bilbo’s hand, the tip damp, and the first whimpers edging into his deep breaths. The sight was enough for Bilbo to stir as well, but he remained only half-hard as he focused on Thorin’s pleasure.

The moment he began lightly kissing Thorin's neck he knew the other man was lost. Thorin's whole body shivered, his hips arching into Bilbo’s touch, inviting Bilbo's fingers to glide over his length. The pace remained torturously slow, and a flush had crawled up Thorin's neck and darkened his cheeks, but he made no move to take change or increase the speed, content to let Bilbo control the pace.

Which he kept torturously slow, even taking his hand from Thorin's cock and drifting it up his belly and back between his thighs, ignoring it entirely. At the first soft sound of protest Bilbo smirked, whispering in Thorin's ear, "Are we impatient now? I don’t know about you, but I can keep this up all day.”

Thorin whimpered. His muscles bunched and tightened, shuddering as he whispered, “Please."

Bilbo huffed out a long breath, his whole body feeling suddenly hot. He settles back into his previous pace, only intensifying the kisses that he sucked along Thorin's pulse point, and adding nibbles to his earlobe that made Thorin’s breath hiss through his teeth. Bilbo could feel the heat from Thorin's body as the light touching increased his heart rate. On a stroke of inspiration he put his left hand under Thorin's shirt instead of over it, lightly scratching over the nipple with his nails and running his hands along the muscles of Thorin's torso, but keeping the majority of his focus around Thorin's cock.

Thorin's teeth dug into his lip, his brow drawing together as another whimper escaped. He ground his hips back into Bilbo, an unconscious, instinctive movement. With more hands and better access he'd like to tease Thorin everywhere, preparing him, milking him, jerking him off, but for the moment this was just as good even if it was slower. Truth be told, Bilbo didn't care much if he came, if it meant the luxury of watching the scene before him over the course of the morning. He traced his fingers around Thorin's cock and gave it a brisk, sure stroke, sliding the foreskin around the length and Thorin moaned just as he slowed again, returning to just the use of his fingertips along the underside.

" _Please_ ," Thorin slurred as if drunk, thrusting against Bilbo's fingertips.

"So beautiful," Bilbo whispered into his ear, kissing the outer shell, tongue tasting the outline of the silver cuff that decorated the outside edge. "How did I not think sooner to take my time with you?"

" _Ah_ ," Thorin breathed. Just a little more attention and Bilbo knew he could have Thorin bucking up into his hand, releasing all sorts of needy sounds that he was getting only too used to enjoying, which was precisely why he took his hand away entirely, putting both up under Thorin’s shirt and guiding him to pull it off. Bilbo scraped his nails up Thorin’s ribs, hard enough to not trigger his ticklishness, and Thorin bit back a curse, struggling beneath his touch, pushing up against Bilbo and gave another shocked, cut-off “ _Ah_!” when Bilbo pinched each nipple, massaging and caressing Thorin’s chest, stomach, dragging his hands up Thorin’s chest to hold him as he kissed trails down his throat and jawline, and Thorin bucked once, helplessly, against him.

“I could leave you like this,” Bilbo observed. “Ask you very nicely not to touch yourself, get some work done and check back occasionally to make sure you’re still hard for me. I’d like to strip you naked, drive you wild, and leave you wanting until you can’t take it anymore. Would you like that?” It gave him a curious thrill to say such things, much less whisper them in Thorin’s ear, but any concern for propriety burned away in the thrill of lust that followed, as Thorin _whined_ and ground desperately into Bilbo’s lap.

It gave a heady, intoxicating feeling of power to have such a man at his mercy, his hands reaching down to shove the sweatpants down and cup Thorin’s balls. All that power to drive wild, to give pleasure to this person he… he loved. God, he really loved him, and the thought flared in his mind even as a flush climbed Thorin’s throat and his cock lay heavy and red against his belly. Thorin kicked the sweatpants the rest of the way off his ankles, arching against Bilbo, begging with a quiet whimper from the back of his throat, and Bilbo obliged in his own way.

In the end it was nearly an hour of such teasing. Whenever Thorin came close, Bilbo would pull back, making his strokes light again, concentrating on other parts of his body. By then, Thorin was incoherent, reduced to a panting mess as he sobbed out wordless pleas, whole body alight and shivering with need. His cock dripped onto his stomach, flushed dark, and his heels dug into the cushions while his fingers wrung at the fabric, or clutched at Bilbo’s legs, his arms, anything he could grasp onto. Bilbo too was painfully hard at this point, but far too rapt to care. Thorin’s body was a live wire, all but crackling beneath Bilbo’s touch, even the lightest enough to make him shudder. When he opened his eyes they were dazed, wild with need, and he turned to bury his face against Bilbo’s neck.

“Ah, _ah_ , enough, please, Bilbo,” Thorin panted against him, breath tickling Bilbo’s skin. “Love, please.”

Bilbo stilled, teasing forgotten, the world forgotten but for Thorin’s words, his body pressing hot against him, and he didn’t know what to say. It was too sudden and great a confession answer in such a state, so instead he bent his lips down to Thorin’s ear, whispering against it. “Do you want to come, dear?”

Thorin sighed as he nodded, and Bilbo closed his hand firmly around Thorin’s cock, free hand playing over his chest, his nipples, with his lips at Thorin’s throat as he finally picked up the pace. Thorin had been quiet when they made love in the bedroom, his growls and moans never going above speaking volume. Whatever control he’d had then was long gone and he moaned shamelessly to finally have this release, reaching back to clutch helplessly at Bilbo’s leg, his arm, anywhere he could touch while Bilbo continued his stroking him through it. Bilbo swiped the slick pre-come down his length to go faster and Thorin keened, bucking mindlessly into Bilbo’s fist, turning his head to try to kiss and bite at Bilbo’s throat but barely able to do so through his panting.

His chest heaved under Bilbo’s hand and dazed by the display, dizzy with it, Bilbo felt the temptation itch and gave it to it an instant, nibbling at Thorin’s earlobe, whispering against his skin. “I love you too.”

Thorin swore, his whole body going rigid beneath Bilbo’s hand. He came hard, his orgasm shaking him, his toes curling as he clutched at Bilbo’s arm, lips parted in a soundless cry. Bilbo stroked him through it, directing the spurts with his hand so they landed on Thorin’s belly, matting the dark curls of his pleasure trail. Wave after wave wracked him, until finally he went still, chest heaving and body lax against Bilbo’s. Overcome, Bilbo continued to press kisses into Thorin’s skin, feeling the pulse flutter at his throat and his heartbeat gradually slow from its frantic beat. Thorin murmured something unintelligible, and nuzzled against him, still clinging.

“You will have to let me go eventually,” Bilbo said, swallowing past a rush of tenderness at the sight that threatened to close his throat. “If you think that left me unaffected, I may have some news for you.”

“It would be impossible to ignore, with you digging into my back like that,” Thorin said. “Just a moment more. I spent that whole time imagining my mouth on you, and don’t want to be robbed of the chance.”

“Really?” Bilbo said a trifle breathlessly. “I can hardly wait.”

“Says the one who threatened to leave me here all day,” Thorin said, “just checking in to make sure I’m still hard for him.” His voice grew hoarse over the last words.

“Who says I won’t one day deliver?” Bilbo said, mouth going dry. The quiet sigh Thorin released at his words was certainly not helping with said patience.

“At present, I’d say I’m in a better position to deliver on that threat than you,” Thorin said. He then hefted himself to his feet, showing no self-consciousness at all as he stood in the middle of Bilbo’s living room, scraping a hand over his face to brush away the tendrils of hair that had come free from his ponytail, and clung to the sweat.

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Bilbo called after him, as Thorin vanished into the bathroom with only a quick smirk over his shoulder. It was still a treat to watch him go, one that Bilbo tried not to think of too hard. He heard the rush of water from the tap and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the sofa, taking deep ragged breaths as arousal pulsed through his veins. Images of Thorin’s body writhing against his flashed in his brain, and he was all but lost to them when he heard the door open again, and felt a hand on his thigh.

“Unlike you, I am not quite so cruel,” Thorin said, kneeling between his legs. “Besides, I know long teasing is not as much to your taste.”

“Well, at times it’s not so bad, it can be nice really, but…” Before Bilbo could say anything further though, Thorin gave him a wicked look and yanked Bilbo’s pajama pants down to his knees, lifting him and pulling them off as if he weighed nothing, and the burn of his eyes sent an answering jolt through Bilbo that went straight to his cock.

Thorin grasped Bilbo by the buttocks, fingers digging in and dragging him closer, and Bilbo’s head fell back as his cock was engulfed in warm heat, and he could not manage many words to argue after that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to check me out on [Tumblr](http://www.avelera.tumblr.com), and consider leaving a comment. They do so make the effort of writing worthwhile :)


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